


harbour in the tempest

by shepherd



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Oaths & Vows, Traditions, i have no idea what else to tag this as?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27995670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepherd/pseuds/shepherd
Summary: Prompto needs a hand practising for his initiation, and Gladio steps in.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Prompto Argentum
Kudos: 21
Collections: Gladio Week





	harbour in the tempest

“Come on,” Gladio called out with a terrible, wry grin, and slapped his hands upon his thighs. It made an impressive solid smack. “Time to get up. Gotta go again.”

Without attempting to hide how he shrank deeper into his seat, Prompto curled in on himself. Long legs folded awkwardly against his chest. “No more,” he complained bitterly. “My brain is fried.”

At this point, every part of him ached. His mind was overtaxed, and the chairs in Gladio’s office were supremely uncomfortable. Prompto had been surprised. There was a fine lining of pillow along the back, sturdy furniture made of polished oak, and Prompto’s back was horribly sore within the hour. Despite it all he refused to budge from his safe haven, and Gladio’s eyes rolled even as he smiled.

“Come on,” he said and kicked out at one of the legs without warning. It wobbled dangerously and Prompto yelped, shooting immediately to his feet.

“But my head hurts,” he complained, fumbling with the worn paper in his hands. “Can’t we finish tomorrow morning?”

Thick eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

“My brain hurts!”

“You’re making my brain hurt,” he shot back with his easy smile and he prodded his finger against the centre of his own forehead. Prompto was safe across his desk. “We both know damn well you have to have this memorised by tonight or you won’t get a wink of sleep. Then you’ll be so tired and anxious in the morning that you’ll say some dumb, embarrassing shit to the guy who’s gonna swear you in. Then you’ll trip up the stairs, brain yourself on the edge, and die.”

Prompto moaned. Blood on the tile was still not the worst thing that could occur. Maybe it would be a kinder fate for them all. “I know,” he complained, and rubbed his hands over his cheeks. His eyes were heavy and sore. They had begun in the early afternoon and their practise bled over into the evening, spring’s sunset still uncomfortably early. Prompto arrived already exhausted from an intense work out, and the strain spread to his grey matter. A migraine pulsed behind his eyeballs. “I just don’t wanna have to do it.”

“Yeah, I get it buddy,” Gladio rumbled, voice a little softer. He wore half a smile and a fond gleam in his eye. “But you only have to do it once. Then you’re fully fledged Crownsguard.”

It was hard to believe. Even though Prompto had been training hard for this since he was fifteen, being less than a day away from being a respected member of Noctis’ formal guard was a shock. Prompto passed his formal exam mere days after his eighteenth and Noctis had clapped his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear, wider than Prompto had ever seen. “That’s the hardest bit done,” he promised over a round of drinks but Prompto wasn’t too sure.

During the test Prompto thought his lungs were going to combust. His throat burned and his skin became ruddy but the group of invigilators were thankfully strangers. After his test they would no longer matter. But after his oath would be before his king and prince, before his future colleagues, and even his father. Knowing, expectant eyes. He could not bear the thought of disappointing them – another smear upon the Leonis name, the affliction of a son who never quite felt he felt in.

“Yeah,” he said noncommittally, thinking of the cool eyes of his father, and rubbed hard at the back of his neck. A nervousness made his hands shake.

As always Gladio noticed. “Hey,” he said sternly, clapping his hands together again. “None of that. It might seem scary, but it’s just a couple of words. If I can make my Oath of the Sworn Shield without screwing it up, you can make the Crownsguard oath. It’s way easier.”

Prompto peeked up at him. “How can anything be harder than this? It’s so long.”

Gladio’s instant laughter made Prompto’s ears burn with shame. The pale skin flushed a dusky pink and he hurriedly averted his eyes. “It’s hard,” he said defensively.

“Absolutely,” Gladio agreed, and Prompto could at least appreciate how he made an attempt to dampen his laughter. “All of the oaths are tricky. Some of them are similar, some are longer, but even my grandpa who never complained about shit used to argue that the Shield’s was the hardest. Wouldn’t hear any argument. Not even from the guy who was Marshal before your dad, and my dad said they were both proud, bitter old bastards, so those fights went on forever. And that’s from my own dad – you know it had to be bad.”

“Shit,” Prompto mumbled, imaging the council halls echoing with raised voices. “Can you still remember it?”

“Yeah. Every word.”

“Shit,” he said again, awed eyes blown wide. “Can… can I hear it?”

Gladio planted his hands on his hips and leaned forward with his famous easy smile. Prompto’s heart couldn’t help skipping a beat. “You first.”

Wincing, Prompto crinkled his fraying notes. “Can I use these?”

“Nope,” Gladio said, lips popping loudly. “You ain’t gonna be able to cling to those tomorrow. Gotta get used to it.”

Doom settled awkwardly in his stomach. The end of the Leonis line was upon them and Prompto despaired. He blew a heavy exhale from his mouth, hands newly anxious again, tearing at the mutiliated corners of his paper. He had printed the words again and again on too many different sheets. “Alright,” he said moodily, loathing every moment. But Gladio stood silent, eyes still carrying warmth, and so Prompto cleared his throat.

Gladio’s office was peaceful. It was perfect – soundproof for all of Gladio’s private discussions, and they ran a miniscule risk of being interrupted. At such an hour most Citadel workers had long since headed home. Prompto’s family were amongst them. But Gladio breathed famously loudly – dad breathing, Iris had teased, old before his time – and the sound barely reassured him. Prompto still trembled standing before him in such an intimate and important place.

But here there was no judgement – only a soothing voice and a steady source of calm. Despite all the anxieties that bubbled up within his chest Prompto knew that. Gladio had offered to help him out of the kindness of his heart, knowing that Prompto was far too anxious to practise aloud in his family home lest he be overheard, and he wouldn’t dare breathe a word of his fear to his brother and prince. They would endure the worst and order pizza afterwards, Gladio promised - his treat. In these halls, Prompto was only ever with friends.

No judgement chilled Gladio’s eyes. Only good company, and a promised bright future, and Prompto cleared his throat even as he stared at his feet.

“Hear me,” he began, relieved to note that his voice did not waver. “All servants of fair fortune and turbulent fate hear me as I commit myself to serve as one of your good company. Our fates and paths will align for as long as we both shall walk our nurturing Eos, following one King. We strive to serve his people, share in his successes, to lighten his burden. I, Prompto Leonis, son of…” he wavered for a moment, looking towards Gladio again. “Is… is this bit really necessary?”

Leaning against his desk – it had to be reinforced, Prompto thought, in order to take his considerable bulk – Gladio folded his arms. His exposed biceps bulged and Prompto looked away. For decency’s sake, he told himself, knowing he would be horribly distracted. “Only for those of noble families. Cor got a title with his position, and you’re a lord in name, so…”

Prompto pulled a face. “Don’t remind the Council.”

With a wry snort, a moment of pondering the faces of sour old traditionalists who would be utterly unable to hide their contempt that men of common blood were joining their noble ranks, Gladio gestured towards Prompto. There was a lingering smugness thinking of Councilman Nox. “Carry on,” he said. “You were doing well. Maybe stand a little straighter, though.”

“I can’t help it,” he grumbled, but shook his head to chase away the fantasy of mumbled voices. They would pass judgement until the end of their bitter days. Prompto would stand tall and always proud of the patchwork Leonis family. Just because it was mismatched didn’t mean it was lesser -they loved him, and Prompto loved them in turn.

Prompto remembered what he had been taught. A deep inhale and a loud exhale slightly settled his persistent nerves. He summoned all of his focus. “I, Prompto Leonis, son of Cor and Amais Leonis, stand before His Royal Majesty, Regis Lucis Caelum, 114th King of-”

“113th,” Gladio smoothly interjected. “Noct is the 114th King – or will be, anyway.”

Prompto blustered. “Fuck,” he said, but steamed forward. “114th King of Lucis, to swear my oath, and take heed and to heart my destiny.”

Gladio listened intently as hurried along in his eagerness to finish, sinking his own head into a bow. These words had become part of him over time – memorised from dusty tomes from a young age. The books had been too heavy to carry alone, and the old bad-tempered librarian had banned children after an incident many years before Gladio had even been born. Clarus had taken his hand and chaperoned him through to the very back, even read along with him, but Gladio had never heard the oath spoken so earnestly. Prompto’s voice may have faltered, but his words remained pure of heart.

“I swear myself to brotherhood. I swear upon the honour of my fathers, the loving of my sibling, the dignity of my king, and the grace of each Astral to always carry these vo- these sacred vows. I swear to honour all – to carry my weapon with pride and defend all those who cannot defend themselves, and to never stain Eos’ soil with the blood of her innocent children.” Prompto swallowed uncomfortably loud in the silence of the room. Even so, a determination had set in. “I swear to remain faithful and loyal, generous and true, and follow my king and his queen. Hear me,” he said again, and young man emboldened and yet still brimming with doubt. “From this day forward, I am one of you – merciful, kind, and to live with courtesy until the very last of my days.”

In the lingering quiet Prompto exhaled, quivering without realising. His paper crunched in his hands as he anxiously flexed his fingers. “Not quite there then, I guess,” he said, smiling weakly, staring down at Gladio’s heavy boots.

The wood of Gladio’s desk creaked. “Prom,” Gladio said pointedly and his hand caught Prompto’s slumped shoulder. “It may never be perfect. And that’s okay. Even if your delivery was on point and it was the best damn recital the world has ever heard, your voice could crack tomorrow. You could sneeze or have a coughing fit. It’s really no big deal. The Crownsguard are all human and I promise we’ve all heard it before. Ask anyone, and they’ll guarantee they were shitting themselves when it was their turn.”

Disbelief was written all over Prompto’s pinched expression. “Were you?”

“Of course,” Gladio said, a touch exasperated. “Dude, you’re nervous because your dad will be watching, right? Well, so was mine. We both had the king and Noct there. Only real difference is that mine was a hell of a lot longer. They’re similar, but you don’t have to do the shit tone of extra tests like I did. You’ve passed your one, so quit worrying. Plus, my role is for life. You can retire. Frankly, you can bounce on your first week. Can’t say the same about me or Iggy.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Prompto said fiercely, but sniffled still. “You really remember the whole thing?”

Gladio nodded and Prompto hissed through his teeth. Three weeks, and Prompto still struggled. Gladio had spoken his vow once he turned eighteen, three whole years ago, and swore himself to Noctis’ side for life. “Can I hear it?”

Gladio shrugged lightly and then rolled his shoulders hard. As the joints popped his posture shifted -bolder, prouder, and he cleared his throat loudly. “Hear me, gods and kings, man and beast. Men of wit and men of humility. My lord and prince, heir to a noble throne.”

His voice was unwavering and carried. Powerful, and immodest in every way that Prompto wished he could match. Prompto envied how he would sound, magnified within the throne room, enough to make the marble tremble. “Time marches onward and all branches of fate align, roots twisting and choking, and a life will falter to embrace the end. Amicitia blood nourishes fertile Eos, the bones of a protector forming a brutal shield, a soul sworn to such duty for the good of-”

Bile had risen in Prompto’s throat. He hurriedly lifted his hands. “I don’t think I wanna hear the rest,” he said weakly, his eyes blown wide.

“Well, good,” Gladio replied with a wonky, endearing smile. “It’s super fucking long. We’d be here all night.”

“And they make you memorise the whole thing?”

“Mhm. And to memorise the story of an ancestor’s great sacrifice for their liege, but you don’t have to recite that in front of anyone but the royal family and currently serving Shield. They just want you to honour the traditions and prove that you recognise their weight. And you have to pass your physical tests.”

“Damn.” Prompto’s shoulders slumped, appropriately cowed. “Now I feel like an asshole, complaining about saying a couple lines.”

“Hey, it’s all cool,” Gladio said and Prompto much preferred this Gladio – suave and self-assured, just here to help a friend. “I know this is real tough. But you’re doing great, and you’ll be Crownsguard by tomorrow. You won’t mess it up.”

Even if they might have been empty words for the sake of boosting his ego, Prompto clung to them. “Thanks,” he said sheepishly, unable still to quite meet Gladio’s eyes. There was a nagging feeling in his belly, the sickness lingering. “Is.. is everything you said really part of being Shield?”

For a moment Gladio stood silently. His hand slipped from Prompto’s shoulder and he worried he had said something wrong. It was a moment longer before Prompto amassed enough bravery to look up, and Gladio’s face was void of all emotion. It was a strange sight, to see all his carefree humour gone. “Yeah,” he said eventually. “Me and every ancestor took the same vow. There haven’t been any changes, even for modernization. My kids will swear the same, and so will their kids. It’s the honour of the Amicitia.”

It rung hollow now. It was something Prompto had heard dozens of times before – Amicitia duties pulling Gladio away from hanging out, Amicitia pride ensuring Gladio’s perfect behaviour at festivals, the gash over Gladio’s eye a meagre price to be paid. It felt far more real now. It was a savage blow to Prompto’s gut. “Oh, that’s… that’s awful.”

“It’s the future I was born into,” Gladio said, with faux lightness. Prompto would not have even been able to pretend. “My family is more fortunate than most in this city, wouldn’t you think?”

“I guess,” he said slowly, reluctantly. “But…”

He trailed off into nothingness. There were no words good enough to convey his turmoil. Gladio quirked his head, expressionless. “But?”

“It’s nothing,” he lied, silently supressing thoughts of a chosen spouse, squalling children born to die. Twenty one – twenty one years old, and staring down death from the moment he lay in his mother’s arms.

Prompto couldn’t help but be consumed by the guilt and dread. The sheer arrogance of fearing his comparatively simple oath. Prompto would live nobly as a Crownsguard, and perhaps die in the line of duty, but for Gladio a violent death was all but guaranteed. For Clarus – For Iris, perhaps, and it was enough to make his stomach turn. “It’s just… shitty.”

“Mm,” Gladio responded again, non-committal. There wasn’t a single speck of anything across his face.

“Isn’t there like… anything else you would rather do with your life? Writing? Exploring out beyond the wall? Anything?”

A horrible smile spread across Gladio’s young, handsome face. “Something other than training to fight and then dying young, you mean?”

Prompto’s face stained red. “I just meant-”

Gladio’s laugh was no longer jovial. “I know what you mean,” he said, and sighed very softly. As he sat up the desk groaned beneath his weight. “Listen. There’s a lot of things I would do. It would be a completely different life. A completely different me, and I try to keep than in mind. If I weren’t Gladiolus Amicitia… gods know where I’d be. Maybe I’d be long dead already. It’s hard to say.” Again, he shrugged, like the course of his life was not and had never been his own. “I live my life one day at a time, knowing one day it’ll be curtain call. And it’s just the same for everyone else – really, how different is it?”

Reluctantly, Prompto answered. It was easy to feel led to his answer. “Not really, I guess?”

There was something strange in Gladio’s eyes. Prompto couldn’t bear to study him so closely. “If I wasn’t here, I wouldn’t have a purpose. Or maybe I would. It’s impossible for me to know.”

“But-”

“I have Iris,” Gladio continued, never speaking harshly or raising his voice. Prompto’s mouth still snapped shut, cowed by natural authority. “I’ve met Noct. I’ve met Iggy. I’ve met you. We’ve had some good times, and if I were cut down tomorrow-”

“We’d never let that happen,” Prompto insisted.

“-that’ll be good enough for me,” Gladio finished, and reached out to tweak his nose, moving to ruffle the mess of Prompto’s hair. It didn’t give way to smile or protest. “C’mon. You wanna try and make this pizza night miserable? With your big day tomorrow?”

Prompto’s chest was heavy and solid. But he shook his head, voice nothing more than a murmur. “No,” he supposed and Gladio drummed his fingers against his head, lightly scratching his short nails against his scalp.

“No sad,” Gladio commanded, and tapped fondly against Prompto’s pale cheeks. “Only pizza.”

“Only pizza,” Prompto echoed, unable to muster the energy.

Gladio grunted at him. “Noct’ll cheer you up better than I can,” he decided and pushed himself off the desk. He busied himself around the room, drawing his blinds fully closed and cutting out the security floodlights installed high on the walls. “Shitty movies. Triple cheese. Enough to make your heart give our just looking at it.”

Silently Prompto watched him go. He was a sudden flurry of movement amongst the stillness, a distraction, grabbing his hoodie and shoving his things into his satchel. There was a tiny trill of noise as he yanked his phone from the charger. “Spent longer in here than I thought we would,” Gladio said to break the silence, studying his missed messages. “You know the chairs in here are deliberately uncomfortable so meetings don’t overrun, right?”

“Mm,” Prompto murmured, lost in thought, and Gladio looked his way.

Whiskey eyes studied him a long, quiet moment. Prompto watched him in turn. The man was vibrant, overflowing with energy and life, and doomed to die. It was an impossible pill to swallow – Gladio was the kindest of each of them, the absolute best. The only man thoughtful enough to offer his precious time to help Prompto perfect his vows. Chance had dealt him a deadly hand in reward.

And still Gladio laughed at him again. It was a rare day that he didn’t smile and joke. “Or maybe you’ll just depress everyone instead,” he teased, pulling his hoodie on. His head almost caught in the neck. His hair became mussed as he escaped. “Listen, don’t tell Noct we talked about this? Like, Iggy gets it, y’know? But it fucks Noct up real bad.”

Two different weights upon their shoulders tore them down all the same. “I won’t say anything,” he swore, and crushed his notes up into a ball.

“Thanks,” Gladio said. “Just focus on your oath tomorrow, okay? Tonight, I only want you thinking about pizza.”

“Okay,” he said again, but knew he would not be able to sleep tonight.

“C’mon, then,” he replied, keys now rattling in his hand. Prompto got unsteadily to his own feet, quiet as a mouse and silent as the grave. Gladio was warm as he passed by, his expensive cologne and sweat upon the air. Still breathing. Still here. Never mind each of his scars, knotted deep in vulnerable flesh.

Prompto followed Gladio out of the door, slinking in his shadow. His shoulders were pinched and his throat newly sore. They needed a beer, he thought. Two, maybe even three to banish the ghosts, and Gladio shut his office door, plunging them into darkness.


End file.
